Emmeline. With Some Other Pieces.

Extracts from Journal.

1815.

======

--Went to the exhibition at Somerset-House.
We saw a thousand things, of
which I remember not one, except Wilkie's
"Distraining for Rent." The centre
figure, the Tenant, seated at a table, leans
on his arm, shading his face with his hand
--an exquisite expression of suffering; the
mouth closed even to compression. On his
right hand is his little son, grasping his
coat, and looking towards the Wife, who is
fainting. Her infant, who lies in her lap,
is saved from falling by one little girl, and
the Mother is supported by another. On
the other side of the picture is the Bailiff;
and on the edge of a dismantled bed sits
his Clerk, writing on with stoical unconcern.
The centre is occupied by a cradle,
from which the pillows, &c. have been dragged,
and are thrown upon the ground. Behind
the table, on which the unfortunate
tenant leans, is a groupe, consisting of a
young man, who, with strong indignation,
addresses the Bailiff--an old woman in tears,
evidently of anger--a little boy, who would
fain fight if he were able--and a decent
elderly man, who is endeavouring to quiet
them all. Near the door, behind the fainting
wife, stand two neighbours; the one
weeping, the other looking on with more
composed concern. The cradle and its furniture
are beautifully finished. The whole
figure of the tenant is admirable; so is that
of his indignant friend. The wife is not so
well finished, and not pretty enough. The
whole seems to me as superior in expression
and moral effect, as it is inferior in finishing,
to the best works of Mieris and
Gerard Dow. Mieris finishes most exquisitely;
but then such labour to paint cabbages
and carrots! It would be far easier
to raise them, and of far more use.

------

--Went by water to Richmond with
----, and two gentlemen of their acquaintance.
The weather was delightful, which
was well, for the weight of another person
would have sunk the boat. The scenery is
beautiful, especially below Kew, covered
with villas and villages.--Landed at Kew,
and revisited the garden. * *

Landed again at Richmond, and walked
up the hill. The view is the richest possible,
and very beautiful certainly; but if
the river were expunged, there is not one
feature of the scene which has identity
enough to be remembered for half an hour.
Took boat about half past seven. The
evening was lovely; the sun, on setting,
threw a fine pillar of light along the river,
and afterwards tinged it with the richest
shades of orange, fading, as they approached
the boat, to silver. The water, an unruffled mirror,
reflected every tree or cloud;
and, as it grew dark, transformed every
taper on the banks into a slender shaft of
fire.--Landed about ten, after a very pleasant
excursion.

------

--Went again with Dr Bell to the National School.
I took my place in the
lowest class, and said my lesson with the
rest. After the children have learnt to
make every letter quickly in sand, they
are put into this class, and are taught to
form syllables. The first girl calls out a;
after an interval sufficient to count six, the
second calls out b; after a like interval, the
third calls out ab, &c. If any girl does not
know the letter or syllable which it is her
turn to say, the next is tried, and the first
who can say takes place of all who cannot.
If any girl is observed trifling, she is instantly
called on.--In the highest class,
the children read selections from Scripture;
and, in addition to the other exercises, are
examined by the monitor on the meaning
of what they read. Nothing can be more
striking than the eagerness of attention
which the children show, although no other
punishment is inflicted for idleness than
loss of place in the class. The lowest class
being found the most difficult to train, the
best teacher is reserved for it. The mistress
goes continually from class to class,
speaking to the children, reproving or applauding
them by name.

------

--Salisbury is a dirty, shabby, old place,
of no great extent, with a ditch called a
canal in each street. Every dozen of yards
there is a bridge, though any body might
step across the canals. The water in them
is pretty clean, and, I believe, supplies the
town. The Cathedral stands in an open
square called The Close, surrounded with
trees and gravel-walks. The centre tower
is finished with a spire, which is not nearly
so grand as minarets. The spire is built
without perforations, and quite plain, which
has a poor effect. It does not look by any
means so lofty as it is said to be. It is
called 400 feet high.

The altar stands in a beautiful little chapel,
into which the church is opened. Some
of its pillars are wonderfully light, not
more than a foot in diameter. Others are
composed of clusters of still more slender
shafts, united to each other only by the capital.
The pillars of the nave and choir are also
clustered. All the windows are alike, and
of the simplest structure, each consisting of
three plain narrow Gothic arches. That over
the west door is stained; the one behind the
altar is stained also. It contains only one
figure, and represents the resurrection of
Our Saviour. The side windows being of
common glass, the church is glaringly light,
and is all as clean as possible. The Chapter
House somewhat resembles that at
York, except that the roof is supported by
a slender pillar in the centre. It is so light,
that when approaching it through the cloisters
I thought the roof was gone. The
whole is inferior to York Minster.

------

The country around Southampton is very
beautiful. We went to Netley Abbey by
water--a very picturesque ruin. Part of
the church is pretty entire; that is, entire
enough for a painter. The roof is gone.
Part of the east window is standing, thickly
clothed with ivy. There are fine trees
in the area. I had no time to sketch; for
an English party took possession, preceded
by baskets of meat and drink, and attended
by a regimental band--kettledrums and
all!! Stalls for toys and gingerbread disgrace
the entrance to these ruins. Sheltering
woods and lonely situation have not
been able to hide them from their kindred
Goths! Walked home through woods and
fields, clambering over stiles indescribable.

------

ISLE OF WIGHT.--Walked up to the
signal post near Newport, to take a view
of this "garden of England." The foreground
of the landscape is an ugly bare
heath; the middle, a great stiff barrack;
the distance, dull heights and uninteresting
hollows. Nothing is pretty, except
peeps of the sea and of the coast of England.

Saturday, went by a narrow but otherwise
tolerable road to Ventnor inn, the very
southern verge of the island; a comfortable
enough little place; as dear as a London
hotel. The landscape around it consists
of bare ugly hills, dreary open sea,
and crags as regular in shape and strata
as a wall. Bonchurch is pretty, and very
rugged. Perhaps the good folks may think
it sublime who never saw any hill higher
than Ludgate, or any rocks larger than
those in the pavement. The cottages are
beautiful. One of the poorest had a fig tree,
a passion flower, and a myrtle, on the front
of it. Many of them have vines; but this
is universal since we left London.

The people in the Isle of Wight are
unlike the other English. They are ill-looking,
swarthy, and generally black-eyed.
The children are dirty and ragged. The
cottages, in spite of their external beauty,
are poor. Except around villas or hamlets
the country is entirely bare, or its few trees
are stunted and cankered. In short, it is
not worth any Scotchman's trouble to cross
a ferry of five miles in order to see a country
like his own, but every way inferior;
bare as East Lothian, without being rich;
only rough where it pretends to be magnificent;
and merely dull where it affects
the sublime. The dialect is very nearly
unintelligible; but, in answer to almost
every question, we can make out, "I don't
know." A Scotch militiaman, whom we
met near Niton, says, "They are the most
ignorant brutes that ever were made. You
may sit in a public house, madam, a whole
day, and never hear a word of edification,
farther than what farmer has the fattest
calf. Some of them knows the road to
Newport, and some of them not that."

We had a sad scramble from Niton to a
new medicinal spring in the neighbourhood.
My militiaman says "One drink of
Pitcaithly is worth the whole well." * *
Cowes and Ride seem the prettiest parts of
the island.

------

After a passage with some sea but no
wind, we arrived safe at Portsmouth.
Walked on the ramparts; which extend
round all sides of the town except that occupied
by the harbour.

Portsmouth is a regular fortification.
Next to the town there is a high mound
of earth--the rampart. Upon this there is
a brick wall, from the top of which the
earth-work slopes outward, and is covered
and coped with turf--the curtain. This
weakens the force of the balls, which lodge
in it rather than rebound; and prevents
splintering. Beyond this, and at the bottom
of the curtain, is a low wall, of which
I forget the name. Then comes the fosse,
a ditch of great width, which can be filled
with sea-water in a moment by sluices. On
the outer edge is the covered way; a wall,
with a pallisade on the inside, from whence
musquetry might play. Without this
again is the glacis; a field of considerable
breadth, sloped at such an angle that a ball
rebounding from it would not touch the
works. At regular intervals the curtain is
broken by bastions. These are angular
projections, so placed that should an enemy
get within the outworks, the side guns from
these bastions would rake them; which is
called enfilading. Most of the guns, being
placed in niches made for them through
the curtain, can fire only in one direction.
This disadvantage is balanced by the protection
which the curtain gives to the artillerymen.
But some of the guns are
placed en barbette, that is, on the top of the
curtain, where they can be aimed at pleasure,
but where the men are quite exposed.
The ramparts are planted with trees, which
prevent the enemy from taking aim at particular
buildings, and serve also by their
roots to bind the earth in the rampart. The
opposite side of the harbour is defended by
fortifications at Gosport; and farther inland,
Portsea also is completely fortified.
Lastly, the whole "island" is defended on
the land side by strong lines and double
moats.

We went aboard the Nelson, which,
though afloat, has neither crew nor rigging.
She is quite new. She measures 240 feet
from stem to stern. She rates at 2800 tons,
and 120 guns, but she will carry 130 guns.
At present she has 1200 tons of ballast on
board, but about one half of this will be
thrown out to make way for the guns.
There is something awful in the size and
strength of every thing around you as you
stand between decks; but the interest is
much lessened by her wanting her stores,
rigging, and crew. She is at present only
three shabby galleries of prodigious length.
From the Nelson we went to the block manufactory. * * *

------

Towards Brighton the country grows
frightful, and the road bad; in some places
it is below high-water mark. Brighton is
the consummation of deformity; a brick
town, crammed into a hollow between two
naked hills, open only towards the sea. Not
one spire breaks the dulness of the red
roofs; nor one tree the sameness of the
downs; nor one point the dreariness of the
ocean. O what a contrast to the neighbourhood
of Bath! * * *

Immediately on losing sight of Brighton
the country improves, and soon becomes
quite beautiful. At first it is hilly, afterwards
agreeably swelling; everywhere fertile,
and extremely woody. The trees are
chiefly oak, and there are many very fine.
Tilgate forest consists of small birch coppice.
The soil near the coast is chalky.
About the inland boundary of Sussex it is
clay, still mixed with flints. The commons
are more numerous as you approach London,
but of no great extent. The villas
seem encroaching in all directions.

------

Tuesday morning, July 25th.--Left London;
I suppose for ever. What do I regret
in London? Nothing, and nobody.
Yet it is not pleasant to bid a last farewell
even to the most indifferent objects. "Farewell
for ever," cancels all offences and all
disgusts! Why should I ever visit London
again? Not to study my art. The features
of character, as of countenance, seem
less strongly marked there than among ourselves.
There are no doubt originals, but
I have no access to them. I see the people
only in drawing-rooms; and a drawing-room,
like the grave, efface all distinctions.
There seems an established set of
topics, from which no one thinks of departing.
All attend to the same objects, and
all take the same views of them; or, at
least, people square their sentiments by
those of their own class or cast; and if you
know any one's birth, profession, and place
of worship, you may, in general, predict
his opinions, moral, religious, and political.
Painters and musicians may go to London,
but what have I to do there?

The country round London is beautiful
on every side, but it is no where interesting.
The villas are pretty, and nicely
dressed up with their waving acacias and
their velvet lawns; but they have nothing
attaching, nothing peculiar. The neighbourhood
of Henley is interesting; for here
are inequalities of ground and varieties of
outline, to distinguish one spot from another.
Harvest was pretty general all the
way to Oxford. Field-pease were carrying
home. Harvest does not seem the
same cheerful season here as with us. No
bands of reapers! "Nae daffing, nae gabbing."
In a fine field of wheat, one man
was cutting at one corner, and one woman
at another! Reached Oxford to dinner.

At Magdalene-College chapel, I enquired
for my enthusiastic old woman, and
found that her son, after making a fortune
in India, had returned to take her under
his protection. A man shews the picture
now, with great sang froid. Let the men
claim the head; and welcome! They have
not half our heart.--An abominable entablature
and pillars (Grecian too!) darken
the fine altar-piece.--It certainly strongly
resembles the picture on the same subject
in the Dulwich gallery, by Morellas; insomuch,
as to make it highly probable that
they are by the same hand. * * Next to
the Radcliffe, New College Chapel is the
finest thing in Oxford. The towers of All
Souls are very fine. * *

The most complete repose and seclusion
reign in the courts and gardens of the
colleges. This, of course, can only be in
vacation time. All are beautifully neat;
and, considering that all the buildings are
designed for the same purpose, there is
wonderful variety in them.

Came by Witney, of blanket-making
fame, to Northleach, a poor decaying village--once
a manufacturing place, but
now a den of paupers. Sketched the curious
church, and slept at the comfortable
inn of Northleach.

The road between Oxford and Cheltenham
lies through a high, bare, cold, ugly
country; yet in general the crops are good.
Five or six miles from Cheltenham, it suddenly
descends a steep and dangerous hill,
to the lovely village of Dowdswell; from
hence the real "garden of England," the
vale of Evesham, spreads before you. It
is noble in extent, but not boundless; for
the Malvern hills finely close the distance,
with an outline strongly resembling that
of the best aspect of the Pentlands. Cheltenham
is a neat town, nearly a mile
long, surrounded with villas and cottages,
green fields, and multitudinous hedgerows.
The fine valley in which it lies is indented
everywhere with cultivated and woody
hills. * * * The vale of Evesham is perhaps
fifty miles in length, and of all
breadths, from one mile to twenty. Everywhere
hills break the horizon; and the
nearer view is filled up with snug cottages,
orchards, village-churches, shady
lanes, and fields green as the first spring
of Eden. Almost every cottage is mantled
with a vine, and has a little court of
flowers before it. * * *

In some respects we all live alike in this
house; where we have settled for quiet, because
our dinner party is only twenty-four.
Between seven and nine in the morning, we
all contrive to walk half a mile to the well,
and drink an English pint or two of salt
water. From nine to eleven, breakfast is
on the table; and every one drops in, at his
own convenience, to partake. Then each
"strolls off his glad way," in this Castle
of Indolence. Those who have carriages
drive backward and forward in the street.
This saves the sixpence which the gate
would cost; and thus they can better afford
to stop at an auction, and buy twenty
pounds worth of trash, which they do not
want. At five, we meet for dinner--dressed,
but not fine.--After tea, the libraries,
the theatre, the concert-room, the gaming-houses,
are open for those who chuse them;
and there are lights in the drawing-room
for workers and readers. * * In every
direction from Cheltenham, the walks and
rides are delightful. There are hills at no
great distance, on three sides of the town;
and from every little eminence there are
new views of this magnificent valley.

------

Monday, August 14.--Left Cheltenham
at twelve, after having spent seventeen
very idle days pleasantly. The road is
very flat to Gloucester; but still Robin
Hood's hill, and Churchdown hill embellish
the near view, and the Malverns furnish
the distant horizon. Having examined
Gloucester formerly, we proceeded
immediately to Ross. The road is hilly
and beautiful. It enters the high country
about seven miles from Gloucester; and
winds on among rich narrow dells, and
hills cultivated and peopled to the summit.
The last circumstance distinguishes
this country from Scotland; as do also the
numerous orchards, and the dells without
a brook. Longhope and Lea are sweet
villages--pictures of seclusion and repose!

Ross is a very shabby old town, in a
pretty situation, looking down from a high
bank on the Wye. The river was at this
season too shallow for sailing. The stage
to Monmouth is as pretty as possible; and
the situation of Monmouth seems to me
much finer than that of Ross. It lies in
the bottom of a beautiful basin, formed by
steep woody hills, all in the highest state
of cultivation. Up to the very top of
these, the little white cottages peep from
among their thickets and orchards. The
country is divided into baby farms, and
peopled with labouring tenants. This
gives the scene more than mere landscape
beauty; for these little demesnes suggest
ideas of humble comfort--peace--innocence--and
all that is pleasing in rural associations.
In many parts of England, where
I happened to know the condition of the
poor, I have looked at their lovely cottages,
as one would at the corpse of a beauty.
But in Monmouthshire all is cheerful. The
cottagers seem indeed poor, but not dependant.
Each has his cow--his little
field--his garden--and for the most part
his orchard. Few of them therefore sink
into paupers.

Monmouth is a very old town, clean,
but shabby. It has been fortified; and one
gate at least is still standing. The castle
has almost disappeared. There is a very
old bridge across the Wye, which is here a
considerable stream, somewhat affected by
the tide. From the top of a steep hill,
which forms its bank on the side opposite
to the town, we had a view of a most
splendid valley--varied by rising grounds
--skirted by hills which are gay with every
sort of cultivation--and terminated by the
Welsh mountains, at a distance of from
fifteen to twenty miles. No scene of
greater richness, variety, and beauty have
I seen in England. The whole is like
Mosaic work, without one blank. One rich
crop follows every curvature of the adjoining
one, and all are bent into every variety
of curve. There are no frightful squares,
and straight lines in Monmouthshire fences.
The colours too are much richer than those
of Scotch landscape. The wheat is of a
more golden yellow; the grass is unspeakably
green; the very fallows are of a rich
purpleish brown. The woods are natural;
and therefore they are more feathery, and
less formal than our plantations. Nothing
could be added to the beauty of this country,
if the mountains in the back ground
were a little more imposing in their forms,
and a little more proportioned in their
height, to the plain from which they rise.
But nothing less than the Alps would suit
with such a scene.

The wind being high, and blowing
straight up the river, and the weather being
showery, we abandoned all thoughts of
sailing down the Wye. The post road to
Chepstow is very bad; and for seven miles
from Monmouth, nearly a continued climb;
but the prospects are exquisite. The splendid
country towards Abergavenny is almost
constantly in sight; and the home
views at every step present some new
beauty. About nine miles from Monmouth,
we turned to the left into such a
road!! "if road it can be called, which
road was none." It threaded through wild
closely wooded dells to Tintern. A wire-mill,
about half a mile above the village,
is the most picturesque thing possible.
The celebrated abbey is nothing outside;
but within, it is very fine, though not so
fine as Fountains. Sketched the north-east corner.

The road from thence to Piercefield is
bad enough; not nearly so bad, however, as
what we passed in the morning.--Piercefield
is really fine. There are two views,
which are exhibited under every possible
aspect. The first is a noble reach of the
Wye, winding round a meadow, which
forms one of its banks, while the other
rises into abrupt rocks and masses of wood.
This bank is sometimes 150 feet high at
the least, while the other shelves in smooth
green to the water's edge. The rocks are
very noble; and though the river, even
at high water, is too small for its magnificent
accompaniments, yet, upon the whole,
I have seen nothing of the kind so fine in
England. The other view from the grounds,
is towards the Severn, which is here two
miles broad, and therefore a splendid object,
though the banks are remarkable only
for their richness. The town and castle
of Chepstow are the most striking features
in this landscape. The situation of Chepstow
is beautiful. * * *

Wednesday.--We saw the funeral of an
infant, who was carried to the grave by
girls dressed in white; no male attending
but the father.

After breakfast left the "Angel," and
beautiful Monmouth!!--We passed the
prison on the outskirts of the town. It is
not secure; so the prisoners were walking
in the court in fetters!! We soon lost sight
of Monmouth, and, crossing the hills for
three miles, entered Herefordshire; a rich
swelling country, full of orchards, and hop-fields--very
pretty, though not quite so
interesting as what we have left behind.
The Abergavenny hills are still fine in
the distance. Hereford is a clean shabby
town; and its cathedral a ditto ditto cathedral.

Sixteen miles to Ledbury; very like
the former stage; only we have lost the
Welsh hills, and gained the Malverns. Orchards
and old forest-trees close so entirely
around Ledbury, that, till you enter
the town, you see no part of it but the
spire. The road is delightful to Malvern.
In crossing the hills this morning, (Thursday)
we had the finest views imaginable of
the rich swells of Herefordshire; the vale
of Gloucester at a distance; and, near the
foot of the hills, Lord Somers's noble
place, Eastnor Castle.--Near the top, the
road passes through a cleft in the hill, and
the wide plain of Worcester spreads before
you like a map. This is fine, no doubt, and
wonderfully rich; but far less interesting
than the west view. Breakfasted at Steers's.
Wandered about the hills all morning;
and then, passing through Great Malvern,
a beautiful village commanding the whole
vale, we proceeded to Worcester. The
country is undulating and rich; but less
so than Herefordshire.

Worcester was not seen till we were within
a mile of it. It then made a very handsome
appearance; having several spires and
towers, besides those of the fine cathedral.
The Severn passes close to the town; and
is here a fine navigable stream. Drove to
the Hop-pole, an excellent inn. Dr B.
called for Mrs ---- but she was ungracious.
Slight acquaintance are usually more
so than utter strangers.

Friday.--Mr F., a most polite and obliging
person, called early, and introduced
us at Chamberlayne's porcelain manufactory.
Every part of the process was
shewn to us. Flints are first calcined,
which whitens them perfectly; then,
mixed in certain proportions with grey
Cornish granite, they are ground to so fine
a powder as to pass through the closest
silk. Water is poured upon this powder,
and it is twice strained through silk sieves.
The mixture is boiled till it is as thick as
cream, and evaporated till it becomes a
tough paste. Pieces of it are then placed
upon a turning-wheel; and moulded, solely
by the hand, with wonderful precision
and rapidity. This is the case, at least,
with all the pieces of a circular form;
such as bowls, plates, cups, and saucers.--Dishes
of other forms are made in gypsum
moulds; which, though they fit closely at
first, soon absorb the moisture, so as to
part very freely with the vessel which they
have modelled. Every piece is then placed
in a separate clay case. The furnace is filled
with these; built closely up; and subjected
to a red heat for sixty hours. It is
then allowed to cool; the porcelain is withdrawn,
and in this state is called the biscuit.
It is greatly diminished in size by
this process. It is now ready to receive
the blue colour, which is cobalt; and looks
of a dirty grey, till exposed to the action of
the glazing. The glazing consists of lead,
and glass ground to an impalpable powder,
mixed with certain secret ingredients in
water. The biscuit is merely dipped into
the glazing, and is then baked again for
forty hours. It is now ready to receive all
other colours which the pattern may require,
and the gilding. It is then baked a
third time, for ten hours, or more, according
to the colours employed; lastly, the
gilding is burnished with bloodstone or
agate, and the china is ready for the ware-room.
The colours are changed by baking.
The greens, when laid on, are very imperfect;
the rose colour, is a dull purple; and
the gilding is as black as ink. The painting-room
had an unwholesome smell, and
its inmates looked sickly. This manufacture
is perfectly intelligible throughout,
and therefore interesting. You can follow
the flint and granite, till, through
seventeen different processes, they become
a gilded tea-cup. From the china manufactory,
we were carried to the cathedral.
It is the finest, after York, which we have
seen. * * * Worcester is altogether a very
pretty town, in a very fine situation. The
streets are broad and clean, with good
pavement. They wind a little, but not
awkwardly. The shops are handsome.
The chief trade is in gloves, which the
women make at home. This must be better
both for health and morals, than assembling
them in large workshops.

Saturday.--Breakfasted at Kidderminster;
a very ugly mean-looking place, with
no pavement in the streets. Saw the carpet-weaving,
but could not understand the
process. After the web is laid, the weaving
is so entirely mechanical that children learn
it in a week. Came by the poorest country
which we have seen for some time to Hagley;
in which we are a little disappointed.
The house is actually ugly. The grounds
are fine in form, and the wood is most
magnificent; but there is a great want of
water, and a great superfluity of temples,
seats, and "objects" of all sorts.

Sunday.--The inn, which we had expected
to be a complete seclusion, resounded
from morning to night with the uproar
of parties who came to see the place. The
village church, within Lord Littleton's
grounds, was attended by a very decent-looking
congregation. A pretty chapel
makes a sort of chancel to the church. It
contains Lucy's monument.

The village is pretty, like all the English
villages; straggling and woody. From the
highest ground in the park the view
stretches to Cheltenham and Gloucester.
The Monmouth hills are faintly seen. To
the east all the country is enveloped in
smoke.

Monday.--Proceeded by a circuitous
road through Stourbridge and Hales Owen
to Birmingham, the ugly and the dull! We
passed a poor manufacturing village called
Mud-city, inhabited by creatures whose savage
habits made them till lately the terror
of travellers. They owe their present half-civilization
to the charity of Mr Hill, a
neighbouring squire, who has built and endowed
a church, and has established a school
among this horde of barbarians. He has a
large family of his own, whom may God
prosper!

A vile hole this Birmingham! Yesterday
I overheard one of the animals from it,
a young one too! propose to cut down the
Hagley oaks. "They might go to the
king's yards," said the creature; "I am
sure they are of no use here."

Sent our letters to Soho. Mr and Mrs
Watt are gone to Scotland! Tried to see
Thomason's manufactory. Nobody was at
work; first, because it was Monday, and
all last week's wages were not spent; secondly,
because it was a wake. Of this,
however, we saw no signs in the streets.
All was as sombre a a church-yard; not
even girls eating gingerbread, and boys
squeaking on half-penny trumpets. In the
evening we laboured through many of the
rugged streets of this wearisome town;
found out a circulating library, and, on
depositing the price, were entrusted with
four volumes of trash. Mercifully! occupation
makes all places much alike.

Tuesday.--Pour comble, a pouring rain
all morning. Visited a very poor exhibition
of pictures, last year's outcasts from
Somerset House. Spent the afternoon,
however, very agreeably in inspecting Thomason's
manufactory. What seemed the
most ingenious machine of all, was that by
which button eyes are made. One part of
it pushes forward the wire; a second bends
it into a loop; a third cuts it; a fourth flattens
the points that they may join the better
with the button; a fifth pushes the eye
when completed out of the machine. After
all, the movement does not seem very complicated;
if I could have had it by myself
for half an hour, I think I might have fully
understood it. What makes me so slow of
comprehension when any one is bye! I believe
it is because I am distracted by considering
what the byestanders will think I
am about. * * The plating on steel is executed
after the article is perfectly formed.
The iron knife, fork, or spoon, is dipped in
a solution of sal-ammoniac, to cleanse it
from grease. It is then powdered with
resin to make the solder adhere to the
steel, with which it has no affinity. Next
it is dipped in the boiling solder; lead and
tin. Then it is instantly fitted with a
coat of pure silver, rolled out thin and perfectly
flexible; this is pared round the
edges with a knife. The article, whatever
it is, is then passed through a heat strong
enough to melt the solder without affecting
the silver. The solder is squeezed out
and falls away in drops; the silver remains
adhering perfectly to the steel. One side
only of each article is plated at a time; the
silver, by this means, overlaps at the edges,
and is double where it is the most liable to
waste. When the goods are finished, they
are polished; first, by a fine file, then by a
leathern wheel, and lastly by the human
hand. * * Whether it was occasioned by
the nature of their work, or by their practice
in explaining it, I do not know; but
the people employed here shewed more intelligence
than any persons of their station
whom we have seen in England. I dare
say it is good policy to let them shew their
work; the attempts to explain it will lead
them to understand it, and thus will help
them to inventions and improvements.

Left Birmingham in the morning; the
country seems pretty, so far as the smoke
of 10,000 furnaces would allow us to see
it. * * The inn at Colebrook-dale is very
comfortable. The iron-bridge over the Severn
is beautifully light. This first valley,
which, however, is not the true Colebrook-dale,
is really a strange-looking place. The
steep and lofty banks of the Severn have
been torn and disfigured in search of materials
for manufacture, till they exhibit such
appearances as might be supposed to follow
an earthquake--fissures, cavities, mounds,
heaps of broken stones, and hills of ashes
and scoriae. The dell, which seems intended
by nature for a quiet solitude, soothed
by the hush of waters and the wooings of
the cushet, resounds with the din of hammers,
the crackling of flames, and the
groanings of engines and bellows. All is
shrouded with dense smoke; and on the
few spots of vegetation which man has left
undisturbed, the scanty foliage of the coppice
is black, and the very weeds look
scathed and unwholesome.

Colebrook-dale, properly so called, runs
in a different direction from this first valley;
and resembles it only in harbouring
one great iron-work. Colebrook is a very
lovely valley still; the more so, for having
been planted and adorned by Mr Reynolds.
He has led walks along its banks
with great taste; and, with equal liberality,
leaves them open to the public. We saw,
at a distance, the house of our respectable
friend, Deborah Darby; which she left,
three years ago, for "a house not made
with hands."

At Coleport, we visited Rose's china
manufactory; it is upon a still larger scale
than that at Worcester, but is carried on
in the same manner. Here we saw many
women employed in painting the china;
but we were told, that, though they serve
the same apprenticeship as the men, under
the same teacher, their work is always inferior.
Here also we saw the printing of
china; a process quite new to me. On a
copper-plate, properly engraved, the colour
is laid, heated, and well rubbed in; a sheet
of cambric paper, prepared with a secret
composition, is then printed from this plate.
This paper is cut to fit the cup, saucer, &c.
and pressed closely to it; the biscuit is
then washed in cold water; when the paper
peels off, and the pattern remains perfectly
impressed.

From Colebrook-dale the country is very
pretty along the Severn to Shrewsbury. The
Montgomery hills arc very fine; and, seemingly,
at no great distance. The Wrekin
is within a mile of the road, on the other
hand.

The situation of Shrewsbury is very
fine, on a bank overhanging the Severn,
and commanding a rich plain--woody, and
full of gentlemen's seats. The mall is along
the river side, shaded with noble trees;
the town itself is a confused mass of ugly
old houses; a labyrinth of lanes, as rugged
as the paths of virtue, and as dirty and
winding as those of vice. At one end of
the town, however, there are two rows of
handsome houses, and an elegant modern
church, St Chad's.

Heavy rain allowed us to see only imperfectly
the stage to Oswestry. The road is
flat and not very interesting; but we had
fine glimpses of the Montgomery hills to
the left. The entrance of North Wales is
very prepossessing. Chirk is a beautiful
village, washed by a stream of the same
name; the banks are very steep, and the
dell which they form is crossed by an aqueduct.

A far finer aqueduct, of fifteen arches,
crosses the Dee, as you enter the vale of
Llangollen. The Dee itself is a lively foaming
stream, and looks the more beautiful
from being contrasted with the rivers of
England. Near the town of Llangollen,
its rich and populous valley is narrowed by
the hill, on which are the ruins of Dinas
Bran. They make no great figure as you
approach. The village very much resembles
a Highland one; as unlike to an English
village as possible! It is built in narrow
shabby streets. The walls of the houses
consist of thin grey stones--shewing the
mortar between. The "Hand" is an old-fashioned
house, but exceedingly comfortable.

Saturday.--A wearisome climb to Dinas
Bran, under a burning sun. The ruins are
extensive, but not picturesque. The view
is boundless down the vale; in all other directions
it is inclosed by hills. That to the
north is fully as bleak and desolate as any
thing I have seen in Scotland; a tame ridge
of grey rock, unvaried by soil or vegetation.
We endeavoured, as usual, to find the
shortest way to Valle Crucis; and as usual
found only the worst. We passed a very
Scotch-looking farm-yard, where the children
were barefooted, and spoke Welch.
They all, however, can ask for a halfpenny
in English. Valle Crucis is pretty--not
grand. The ruins are poor enough, and
are disfigured with a cottage orne! and
farm offices. Spent the afternoon with the
"Ladies of Llangollen."

Sunday.--The whole of the church service
was in Welch.--Spent this afternoon
also with "the Ladies." * *

Monday.--Went up the vale of Dee to
breakfast at Corwen. This stage is pretty,
but not much more,--certainly not sublime.
The stream is every where beautiful; winding,
lively, and impetuous. The hills are
tameish. The valley is more woody than
most of our Highland vales. Corwen is a
bare mean village; with nothing interesting
except the blind harper,--who has a first-rate
natural genius. His execution is most
wonderful--the difficulties of his instrument
considered. His variations to his national
airs are perfectly original and characteristic.
An Irish gentleman issued from
a parlour, on purpose to make the performer
change his strain to the "Washer-woman"
and "Paddy O'Rafferty." But when
he was called on for the "King's Anthem,"
he fairly defeated his director, by adding
variations of such spirit and invention as
gave the old air all the charm of novelty.
Guessing that we too might have our national
partialities, he volunteered "Roslin
Castle," and played it well; he assured me
that an old woman had been his only teacher.
* *

In returning from Ruthen to Llangollen,
a very long climb in the road shews an extensive
view of the valley of Cllwyd winding
to the sea; it is very rich, but far from
equal to the vale of Evesham. Saw Snowdon
in the distance--The hill tract is very
desolate; there is a prodigious descent from
it into Valle Crucis. * *

Wales may be inexhaustible to a landscape
painter, with its endless rocks, and
ruins, and hills, which he can exaggerate
into something grand enough to fill the
imagination. But give me the woody sheltered
land; where, at every turn, a spire, a
smoke, the crowing of a cock, the shouting
of a child, lead the fancy to half a dozen of
irregular cottages, dropped upon a smooth
little green, and peeping from among their
own vines and roses! Oh England! the
very sight of thy sweet hamlets mends the
heart!

------

I used to think Penrith a pretty place,
when I came to it from the north. Now,
even the valley round it is Scotch; the
fields are large and angular, the grass brown,
the woods dark and lumpish, and the single
trees stunted. Farewell, green fields
and rural villages!--Farewell, waving fences,
and feathery woods, and flowery cottages!--But
welcome, mine own rugged
Scotland! where, though all is bare and
naked, every thing bespeaks improvement,
industry, intelligence; independance in the
poor, and enterprize in the rich. The English
villas repose on velvet lawns, which
the giant oak and the luxuriant chesnut
dapple with their broad shadows. Ours
stand square and ungraceful on benty fields,
inclosed by parallelograms of firs; but ours
are tenanted by their owners, and the best
feelings and the best principles of human
nature find exercise there; while the villas
of England are either altogether deserted,
or inhabited by menials and land stewards.
Our fields boast no beauty, either of form
or colour; but they are at once frugally
and liberally cultivated, and every year
makes new encroachments on the barrenness
of nature. Our cottages range in vile
rows, flanked with pig-styes, and fronted
with dunghills; but our cottagers have
Bibles, and can read them; they are poor,
but they are not paupers. In some of the
agricultural parishes of England we found
more than half of the population receiving
charity (if I may so prostitute the word!)
from the remainder. Every mile in Scotland
shows you new houses, new fields,
new plantations. In England, every thing
is old; and this is one great cause of its
beauty--trees, grass, cottages, all are in
maturity, if not in decay. The first young
plantation of any extent which I observed
in England, was on the borders of the New
Forest; and in the southern counties, I
scarcely saw one new cottage, unless in the
neighbourhood of large towns. * * *

--There is the most striking difference,
the moment you enter Scotland, on the
language of the people, and especially on
the accommodation for travellers. "Horses
quickly for Hawick," quoth the Doctor.
"Ye'll get them in a wee, sir; but they
are out at the park e'en now, and we maun
send and catch them." At last they came!
two unwieldy, raw-boned brutes, alike in
nothing but their speed; and driven by a
"vera canny lad" of sixty and upwards.
* *

------

The road to Edinburgh is right Scotch;
though bleak and dreary, it is judicious
and substantial. But oh! it is untold how
dismally bare this country seems, after four
months' acquaintance with "merry England!"
I sigh over the thoughts of an
Englishman's impressions on visiting mother
Scotland, as Shem and Japhet did over
their parent! No wonder if we be a reflecting,
frugal race! the gay images of
spring, and the luxuriance of summer, never
intrude upon us, suggesting frolic and
profusion! No wonder if we be hospitable!
where one eternal winter constantly
reminds us to draw together, and be
social

This presentation of Emmeline. With Some Other Pieces., by Mary Brunton
is Copyright 2003 by P.J. LaBrocca.
It may not be copied, duplicated,
stored or transmitted in any form without written permission.
The text is in the public domain.